“I would,” Helen said softly. “And perhaps that is true for Karriamis, as well. Tara grieved the slow withdrawal of her previous captain.”
“She’s never going to have to deal with that again. To Tiamaris, Tara is his hoard.”
“Yes. I believe she will be happier than she has been in her long existence as the heart of a Tower. I am less certain about Karriamis, but Dragons are not famous for their ability to be transformed by joy. It is time,” she added, voice gentling.
Bellusdeo stood. “Past time. His choice is only one half of what is necessary. Today I wish to know if he is worthy of me.”
Mandoran smiled.
* * *
Emmerian was waiting, as promised, in the fief of Tiamaris. He was not alone; Tiamaris was also waiting, his expression folded into familiar impatience.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Kaylin told him. “I was ready to leave on time. I wasn’t even informed there was an ‘on time.’” Hope was draped across her shoulder; he lifted his head and squawked at Tiamaris.
Tiamaris grimaced. “I have been asked to make sure that your travel through my fief is pleasant and without incident,” he told them, still looking at Kaylin. “And I will check the border while I am there. Tara is worried.”
“Tara’s fief was without a fieflord for a long time. It’s been weeks and Karriamis is not Tara. I get the sense that he’s enjoying the peace and quiet. He really doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry.”
“That is your impression, yes. Tara, however, is concerned.” And Tara’s concerns took precedence over anyone else’s. Always. Kaylin suspected they were more important than Imperial concern—but was also uneasily certain that Imperial concern did exist.
Bellusdeo immediately turned toward the fief of Candallar and began to walk. Tiamaris joined her, and Emmerian pulled up the other flank. Kaylin and Severn took the rear; Mandoran and Terrano were neatly bracketed between the two groups.
Bellusdeo therefore raised her voice so that it carried to the back ranks. “Why is Tara concerned? Kaylin’s observation is materially true.”
“While she concurs with Karriamis—that the freeing of Spike was in some ways essential to the future of the High Halls—she considers the outcome almost random; it is not a risk that she would take unless pressured to do so.”
“By you?”
“By me.”
The gold dragon snorted. “Which means never.”
“It is not a risk that you would take, either.”
“No. But I have been reminded that risks were taken that I would not have countenanced either, and my people—and I—directly benefited from them. I would not have allowed it. The cost of failure was too high. I am here because I was not asked to make that decision. I am grateful for the outcome. I believe the High Halls, while unsettled, is grateful, in the end, for Spike.
“And Lannagaros is beyond grateful for the existence of, the emergence of, the Academia.” She exhaled a steady stream of smoke. “I feel old,” she said. “And young. And callow with youth. It is unpleasant.”
Mandoran missed a step. Terrano caught him. Neither of the two Barrani spoke a word out loud—but that made sense. They were walking behind three Dragons, and they considered only one of them a friend.
That is not why he stumbled, Hope squawked.
“Why, then?”
She is openly calling attention to her failings, and in a louder than usual voice. It is...not like her.
“So...worried?”
I am uncertain. I have far more knowledge about many, many things than you will likely ever possess. He spoke without pride. But what you did for Sedarias, I could not do. Nor could Helen.
“She could have.”
No, Kaylin, she could not. What bridged the gap between you and Sedarias was your personal experience and your willingness to expose it. The living, as Helen knows, change. Mortals change very quickly; immortals less so. But as you have seen with Tara, change can and does happen.
“Are you worried?” She spoke as quietly as she possibly could, but suffered no hopeful illusion; she was certain Bellusdeo could hear her.
No. Not yet. But we have not yet arrived.
* * *
The Tower of Candallar no longer looked like a standing column of rock. It had lost the impressive majesty of height, although it was taller than any of the surrounding buildings. It hadn’t lost the look of an entirely natural outcropping of rock, but where before it had been a craggy, rising column, it now resembled a cave.
Kaylin tried not to complain; it was clear that the cave entrance—girded with flickering torches—was the only possible entrance, and it waited like an invitation. Then again, so did plants that trapped and devoured insects.
Bellusdeo approached the cave entrance and then turned back toward Kaylin. “It is, as you suspect, a portal.”
Kaylin closed her eyes and thought of the Emperor. “I’m not staying behind.”
Bellusdeo did not insist, and Kaylin didn’t point out that she was by the gold Dragon’s side at Imperial command. They both knew it, and Bellusdeo didn’t need to be annoyed or irritated by the Emperor right at this moment. “If you will not be sensible, come. Take my arm.”
This was not how it was supposed to go. But sentient buildings didn’t particularly care about hierarchical manners and customs. Kaylin, mindful of the fact that she could traverse Nightshade’s portal without ill affects if he personally escorted her—by arm—into his castle, had some hope that this entrance wouldn’t be as unpleasant as portal entrances generally were.
Sadly, Karriamis was not Castle Nightshade. She was grateful for the anchor of Bellusdeo’s arm because she had to close her eyes to move, and the Dragon’s grip was strong enough that she could allow herself to be dragged in the right direction. Portals weren’t always particular about their connections from one place to the next.
It took Kaylin ten minutes to recover enough to stand on her own two feet, but Severn quietly replaced Bellusdeo, offering Kaylin the brace of an arm at her back and beneath her own arms until she could breathe without almost throwing up.
Sorry.
Don’t apologize.
Can I apologize if I throw up on your shoes?
He appeared to think about this. Maybe.
She laughed. She felt the strength of his arm, envied his ability to ignore the disorienting shift of a portal’s passage, and found her own feet again.
* * *
Karriamis was waiting in person when Kaylin emerged from her unpleasant fog. He stood in front of a large arch that had no doors. Emmerian stood by Bellusdeo’s side, but one step behind, as if he intended to leave no doubt who was in command here. Mandoran, however, stayed beside Kaylin, his hands behind his back, his expression neutral. His eyes were a very dark blue.
Bellusdeo’s were orange with flecks of red; Emmerian’s were orange, with flecks of gold.
Karriamis’s were black; there were no white bits. He surprised them, or at least surprised Kaylin; he bowed to them all. “My apologies if the color of my eyes discomfits you, Corporal. It is not what you are accustomed to unless there are difficulties at home.”
She couldn’t hear Nightshade, but could imagine what he’d say. She didn’t think he would ever consent to enter Karriamis, even if he trusted its captain.
“No, he would not. But I would not extend that invitation. He is captain of perhaps the most difficult person it has been my displeasure to meet; I cannot imagine being confined in one place has done anything to improve Durandel’s extremely regrettable disposition. If Lord Nightshade is naturally suspicious, it is no wonder; I consider it a minor miracle that he has held the Tower for so long.”
“Durandel saved his life,” Kaylin said quietly.
“I am astonished.” If the Dragon Avatar didn’t look astonished, he did look surprised. “I would not
have thought he could show even that much care.”
“I believe they have a partnership, and if Durandel is as difficult as you believe, he might not wish to train another suitable candidate.”
“Most would not survive the training. It says much about Lord Nightshade that he did.” None of it, by his expression, good.
“I don’t think many people would necessarily survive yours either,” Kaylin said.
“That was not training,” Karriamis replied, his voice more pleasant than his expression. “It was a simple test. Ah, no, it was a complicated test. Many tests among your kind are pass or fail. This was not entirely that. You experienced something similar when you first entered the Tower of Tiamaris.”
“I didn’t want to be fieflord.”
“No. And I did not test you. Such a test would be irrelevant, you are so completely open. But Maria was not Durandel. I liked her but I did not think her suitable for the position she occupied. She was fragile, and isolation increased her fragility. You were necessary,” he added, “even if the Tower was not to be yours. And I believe she will be happier now than she has been since her ascension.” His smile was gentle. It seemed genuine.
“It is. If I would not have chosen her, I found her warm and almost charming; I wanted happiness or safety for her. I see I have surprised you.”
He certainly had.
“Anyone who wanted happiness for a person would never wish the fate and responsibility of a Tower upon them. It was almost our undoing.”
“That wasn’t her fault. It was the fault of the captain who abandoned her.”
“Indeed. And I would not suffer the same fate, but perhaps, with my experience, I have more of a sense of how to avoid it.” He turned to Bellusdeo, or perhaps to Emmerian.
“You have been thinking. I expected you to return the day after your departure. I am pleased you did not.”
Bellusdeo didn’t look pleased.
“Come, if you will. I have shown you very little in the way of hospitality. Let me now be host.”
* * *
Kaylin had an admittedly academic knowledge of hospitality. Helen understood the general rules far better, and she was chagrined to admit that she relied on Helen to prevent the career-limiting gaffes that would otherwise have been guaranteed.
But even enduring Diarmat’s harsh lessons did not prepare her for Karriamis’s version of hospitality. He led them, not to a parlor of the kind Helen created for important guests, but on what appeared to be a tour of the interior of the cave.
The interior was not a cave. Not to start. It looked very much like the interior of a Barrani hall—but not the halls of stone that informed most of the High Halls. If the exterior of the Tower had been an entrance, the cave was a tunnel; when one emerged, one emerged into carefully cultivated forest. The trees made Kaylin think of the West March.
“I much preferred that decor,” Karriamis said. “But there is stone here—good stone, and warm. It is not appropriate for guests at this time.”
Probably meaning mortal guests, if Kaylin had to guess.
“Indeed. And two of my current guests are mortal, but I assume you are aware of this.”
“We are,” Bellusdeo said, glancing briefly and pointedly in Kaylin’s direction. “But I admit I have seldom seen interiors with this style of decoration.”
“You have not visited the rooms the cohort occupy,” he replied.
Mandoran winced; Kaylin sympathized. He was about as good at hiding thought as she was. But he had Sedarias to drive home the necessity; Nightshade, today, was absent, no doubt by Karriamis’s choice.
“We are said to be creatures of air and fire, and the latter is not conducive to preserve trees such as this. It is true,” he added, “but it is not the whole of the truth. I was born in stone and warmth and darkness, but it was only when I could take wing as an adult that I encountered trees such as this. They were a marvel to me, something that existed in attenuated songs, in old stories meant only for the young.
“It was the start of my interest in studying the world and the mysteries it contained, and when left to my own devices, I prefer it. It is not like Castle Nightshade.”
It certainly wasn’t.
“I am not Arkon. I was once considered for that position, but I would have had to surrender too much of my academic work, and I was reluctant. I envy your Lannagaros; he accepted the weight of responsibility himself. I was younger than he when I was considered.”
“Would you do it now?” Kaylin asked.
“Now? In a theoretical universe in which the heart of the Tower could be changed? I do not know. I have not asked myself that question; it is irrelevant, a daydream. There is no practical use for any answer I might offer.”
“That’s a no,” Mandoran whispered.
Karriamis raised a brow in the Barrani’s direction. He chose to otherwise ignore the comment.
“You will find rooms to the left and the right, but there are no doors to enclose them. For now, I will take you to one of the most important rooms within the Tower. It is a room that has never lost cohesion, and it has never been replaced; nor will it be in future. It is the heart, not of the Tower, but of the Tower’s heart.”
* * *
Kaylin was surprised to see a library. She shouldn’t have been. It was as large as the Imperial library on first sight, but not as large as the library whose only entrance or exit existed on the grounds of the Academia.
She wasn’t surprised to find books she could read, but they were perhaps a third of the collection. The rest, language made opaque. They might have been about cutting fingernails.
Karriamis coughed. His orange-eyed glare reminded Kaylin very much of the Arkon. She touched nothing but wondered why these two Dragons were so powerfully attached to words, even dead words—languages that no living person spoke in daily life.
“You cannot know that,” the Avatar said. “There are worlds that are hidden, even from the wise, and it is possible that that language, or variants and descendants of it, survive. Once, we might have discovered it. But the ways are—with some exceptions—closed.”
“Do you want them to be opened again?” It wasn’t the question Kaylin had intended to ask.
Karriamis turned to her, orange-eyed. “You did not see Ravellon in my youth. You do not know what was lost when it fell. Could I have that city again absent the danger? Yes. Yes, I would like it, even if it is no longer something I could visit. We all have desires that are considered impossible. An end to war is one of them.”
Emmerian lifted his head. “And what would you do were there an end to this war?”
“An unkind question,” Karriamis replied, although his eyes didn’t darken.
“It was not meant to be unkind,” Emmerian replied, bowing.
“No. It was not, which is why you are still here.” Before Kaylin could speak, he added, “It is my home, and my rules apply only to visitors.”
“My home would never, ever do this.”
“Your home has done worse to intruders; you do not consider intruders guests. When I have no captain, you are all intruders. Today,” he added, “is different. Today, I have invited you in; you are guests. There will be no tests, no testing.”
“We were intruders when we first visited Helen, by your definition.”
“Yes. And in this, Helen and I have something in common. But if we are searching for a tenant or a captain, their role of necessity will be different. Helen can exist without a tenant.”
“Towers can exist without a captain.”
“You witnessed, in person, what almost happened to the Tower of Tiamaris. That did not, and would not, happen to Helen.”
“And to you?”
Karriamis said nothing for a long beat. He turned toward the highest of the shelves. “I am arrogant enough to believe that I would not be subject to that fate. But yo
ung Emmerian’s question is a relevant question.
“Lack of war will not immediately dissolve the boundaries of the responsibility I voluntarily accepted. There is no freedom in that, for me. Perhaps the Ancients will return to release us.”
It sounded like death.
“That is my supposition, yes. And perhaps we, like Helen and other abandoned, sentient buildings, will dwindle in significance and import. I am not Helen. Had Candallar not lost himself, he and I would have continued into the eternity that is our birthright.
“If Bellusdeo were to become the captain of this Tower, the same could be said.” He turned, then. “I would, however, have you answer Emmerian’s question. In the absence of war, what do you plan to do?”
Bellusdeo did not answer.
“We cannot eradicate war. In some corner of the land, war will be fought, by different people, for different reasons. If our war with Shadow ends, do you intend to leave this place in search of a war you can fight? Will you continue until you can find a war that can finally kill you?”
Emmerian stiffened, but remained silent. Kaylin couldn’t see the color of his eyes, because he closed them. His hands by his sides were completely still. Unnaturally still.
Bellusdeo smiled. With teeth in. “I may appear impulsive in your eyes; I cannot deny that I have earned that. But I have no desire to throw my life away on some distant battle that will be swallowed by history and leave no trace.”
“As your war was?”
“No. I remember. My people remember. My people’s children will remember.”
“They are mortal.”
She said nothing. It was true.
Karriamis nodded, as if in approval. “I would have you answer my question.”
“I cannot conceive of an end to this war. What I do when there is peace has not been my driving concern, it seems so impractical—a daydream, surely. The dream of—”
“A tired parent, perhaps, who desires their child to know peace and happiness for the brief duration of their life.”
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